This Isn't The End
by NoYouCan'tHaveACookie
Summary: I'm not sure if you would call this a songfic but it's just based off of a beautiful song by Owl City called This isn't the end. So basically, an angsty fic with Mike Nesmith when he gets disturbing news about his father. I recommend listening to the song before reading this. But you don't have to
It was a sunny morning in Malibu, California. The Sun was, well, sunny as it cast it's friendly rays all over God's land. People all over were just put in a good mood due to the bright day and they felt that the day was going to be perfect. Though, not all of humanity were thinking that. For instance, a certain long-haired drummer was covering his face to pretend that the sun was not up and he could get more winks. He groaned into the fluffy, white pillow as he realized that was not going to work when the light was heating up his bed with him still in it. "Ugh!" He groaned in frustration and threw the pillow to the floor. He sat up, his blankets gathering around his waist, and rubbed his light green eyes. He yawned and stretched his skinny arms into the air above his head. Once he figured that there was no way he was going to get back to sleep, he reluctantly swung his legs out of his blankets and onto the carpeted floor.

After he sleepily stumbled down the twisty staircase to the bottom floor, he was immediately smacked with the savory scent of coffee. Micky closed his tired eyes and followed his nose into the small kitchen, surprisingly not tripping over anything in the process. A porcelain green mug with steaming coffee was magically pushed into his open hands. "Thanks Mike." He mumbled and sat down at a chair at their circle table. "Not Mike, but I'll tell him for you." Micky popped open his eyes as he reached for the creamer and sugar as he looked up at the blonde standing by him. "You didn't make this, did you, Peter?" The drummer was suddenly awake and extremely hesitant to drink the dark liquid in his hands.

"No, Mike made it, but he's not here right now." After putting a half cup of sugar into his mug, he looked around their pad questioningly, "Speaking of our wool hat-wearing leader, where'd he go?" Peter was about to answer but was interrupted by a British voice, "He got a letter this morning from someone in Texas." Micky jumped from his seat. "Ah! Don't do that." Davy was looking worried, "Sorry. It's just- when Mike got the letter, he was very happy. Sure, his facial expression didn't say anything but I could see it in his eyes. But once he was reading it, he got upset. Again, his face didn't change much except for the fact that his eyebrows lowered until he looked like he was about to cry." Peter finished the tale, "Without saying a word, he stood up from the chair he was sitting in and left."

"Well, did he leave the letter?" Micky asked, wanting very much to see what had upset his tall, skinny friend. "No, he took it with him," the shortest Monkee said. At that, Mickey just sighed and sunk back into his wooden chair. _What was in that letter?_

* * *

 _Meanwhile..._

Mike was devastated. That paper that he had received in the mail had changed his life. He had resorted to pulling a Davy and was walking along the white beach. He knew he was getting strange looks, walking around a beach in a green plaid button up with a jean jacket, black pants and boots, and a forest green beanie to top it off. But he couldn't care less at the moment. The tears were welling up once again in his azure eyes and he held them back. He couldn't let himself show weakness to anybody- at least, that's what his pop taught him. _Pop..._ Thinking that one word caused the Texan to go over the edge and dashed over to the brink of the blue ocean and kneeled in the sand. As the water lapped over his hands, which he pressed into the sand ahead of his body, so he was on all fours, the tears he'd been holding back for the past half hour finally spilled over the brim of his eyelid and fell with the salt water of the sea. He silently sobbed for what felt like hours but, in reality, was only a few minutes.

Once he felt himself dry of anymore tears, he pushed himself back onto his sandy knees. He took his hat off of his head and dried his saline drops from his cheeks. He held his precious head-wear in his right hand as he stood up from his position on the ground. He looked behind him and saw a few boulders clumped together. He walked over and sat down on the largest one. He pulled the letter that had been folded out of his pocket and reread it.

 _Dear Micheal Nesmith,_

 _We are sorry to inform you that your father has passed away. He committed suicide last night._

 _The funeral will be on Sunday at 3:00 in the afternoon at St. Matthew's Baptist Church in Houston, Texas._

 _You were mentioned in his suicide note and we believe you are in his will as well._

 _We are sorry for your loss_

 _\- Houston Police Department_

He sniffled as he glared at the heartless letter as his hand tightened around his wool hat. _How many times have they had to write letters like this to become so harsh and heartless?_ He kept reading and rereading the short note that held so much world-crumbling information. His own father had killed himself. Ended his life. After everything he did for Mike. He crumpled up the paper and threw it at the ground. He crossed his arms as he was overwhelmed with emotion once again. "Now, that's no way to treat our environment." Mike turned around and saw Micky standing there with a sad smile painted on his usually excited face. Davy and Peter were standing beside him with worried expressions.

The Texan just sighed and turned back toward the ocean. He heard someone bend down beside him to grab the crushed ball of paper and unfold it. There was silence for a few seconds as his friends took in the information. The quiet air was filled with a large, simultaneous gasp from all three as they read the news. Not five seconds later did all three of them surround Mike by sitting on the other rocks and gaze upon the calm waters of the pacific ocean with him. Mike was glad that they were just sitting with him and not trying to console him with meaningless words.

Mike finally broke the peaceful silence by standing up and sighing, "Well," He cleared his voice from the raspiness that came from crying, "Well, I think we should be getting ready to go. Seeing as it is Wednesday and I'd like to get there a little early, I wanna be on the road by tomorrow morning." With that, he turned towards their beach house and began the short walk there by himself. His friends never caught up with him and were instead, still on the beach. "Man, poor Mike." Micky stated after a moment of quiet after their hurt leader had walked away. "Yeah... I lost me mum when I was 14 but that was due to some dumb disease. I can't imagine what it must feel like have a parent kill them self." Davy had explained somberly.

Micky nodded sadly, "Yeah.. I can't complain about my home life. So this makes it more difficult to try to relate to Mike in this matter." Peter remained silent. The young basist had a nice and simple life living in D.C. It was so nice that he forgot not all people had the same luxury as him. Hearing about this made his heart tear in two for his best friend. Mike had always been that father figure in Tork's life out in California. There was just something about the 6'1" boy that made him very respectable.

* * *

Mike had made it to the back door of their Beach house before he broke again. "My Dad's really gone..." A tear slipped out of his foggy eyes and he angrily whiped it away. "No emotions right now! You gotta stay strong for your family, Mike." He shook his head and began the trek upstairs.

Once in his and Micky's room, he found his blacksuitcase in the back of their closet. He pulled it out and set it on his twin size bed. He opened and contemplated what he wanted/needed to bring. He knew, immediately, that he needed his nicest, black suit. He dug through their closet again and found it, hanging on the rack in a garbage back to keep it clean. He took it out of the bag and folded it nearly into the suitcase. He decided to bring regular clothes for the extra days along with his let's photo album of his life.

Once he felt he was properly packed, he exited his room just as the other three entered the house. He silently walked by them and set the bag by the front door. He smiled softly as he watched his best friends walk to their respective rooms. He knew the drive to Texas was going to be long but he would rather be driving so he can distract himself from thinking about his father too much. Plus, the gas was cheaper than trying to buy four round trip plane tickets they couldn't afford.

About ten minutes after Nesmith had set his suitcase down, the others came out of their rooms with their own luggage. After they were all packed, their red rotary telephone rang. Mike figured it was his family calling, so he told Davy, who was about to move to answer it, that he'd get it. And the Texan was right. He heard his dear old mother on the other side of the line.

"Monkees residence, this is Mike Nesmith speaking."

 _"Mike? Oh, good, you answered. This is your mother. So I'm guessing you got the news?"_

"You'd guess correct, Ma."

 _"Oh dear, I knew you'd take it hard. I know how much me meant to you."_

"Yeah... But, I'll be fine. We're gonna be leavin' first thing in the mornin'"

 _"Good. I guess I'll see y'all here then. And you and yer friends are stayin with me for yer trip so don't even think about stayin at a hotel."_

 _"_ Yes ma'am."

 _"Alright. See ya later then. I love you so much Michael."_

"I love you too, Ma." He hung up the phone until, a few minutes later, someone else called. This one was his Aunt Kate. It proved go be a similar conversation. Along with almost every other member of his semi-large family. By the end of the row of calls, Mike had felt emotionally dry. Too much had been going on in that one morning.

The


End file.
